98 IN THE Wig MOUNTAINS. 
nothing but a transient puddle caused by the 
melting snow, was a tiny fish. I asked him by 
what miracle he got there, but he could give no 
explanation. He, too, might well enough have 
joined the noble company of Emersonians : — 
‘¢T never thought to ask, I never knew ; 
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 
The self-same Power that brought me here brought you.” 
Almost at the very top of Mount Clinton I 
was saluted by the familiar ditty of the Nash- 
ville warbler. I could hardly believe my ears ; 
but there was no mistake, for the bird soon ap- 
peared in plain sight. Had it been one of the 
hardier-seeming species, the yellow-rumped for 
example, I should not have thought it very 
strange; but this dainty Helminthophaga, so 
common in the vicinity of Boston, did appear to 
be out of his latitude, summering here on Al- 
pine heights. With a good pair of wings, and 
the whole continent to choose from, he surely 
might have found some more congenial spot 
than this in which to bring up his little family. 
I took his presence to be only an individual 
freak, but a subsequent visitor, who made the 
ascent from the Glen, reported the same spe- 
cies on that side also, and at about the same 
height. 
These signs of life on bleak mountain ridges 
are highly interesting and suggestive. The. 
